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The Betrayed Princess's New Reign Novel Cover

The Betrayed Princess's New Reign

I was the Chicago Outfit's princess, and Luca and Matteo were my sworn protectors. We had mixed our blood at ten years old, promising that nothing would ever touch me. But that oath turned to ash the night Sofia Ricci aimed a Roman candle at my chest. The firework slammed into my shoulder, igniting my silk dress instantly. As I rolled on the concrete, screaming while the flames ate into my skin, I waited for my boys to save me. They didn't. Instead, I watched through the smoke as they rushed to Sofia. They wrapped their jackets—the ones meant to shield me—around the girl who had just set me on fire, comforting her because the "kickback" had scared her. They let me burn to keep her warm. When I woke up in the hospital with permanent scars, they brought me a letter of apology from her and defended her "accident." They even cut their palms to pay her debt, ignoring the fact that I was the one in bandages. That was the moment Elena Vitiello died. I didn't scream. I didn't beg. I simply packed my bags and defected to the one place they couldn't follow: the arms of Dante Moretti, the lethal Capo of New York. By the time they realized their mistake and came crawling back to beg in the rain, I was already wearing another man's ring. "You want forgiveness?" I asked, looking down at them. "Burn for it."
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Chapter 71

Dante Moretti POV:

Months later.

The entire top floor of the Outfit’s premier private hospital was locked down. Three hundred heavily armed soldiers secured every exit, elevator, and stairwell. No one entered or left without my direct authorization.

Inside the sterile white hallway, I was losing my mind.

I paced back and forth outside the heavy oak doors of the delivery room. My heavy leather shoes slapped against the polished tiles. Every time a muffled, agonizing scream pierced the thick wood, my heart slammed against my ribs like a sledgehammer.

I reached up and violently ripped the silk tie from my neck, throwing it to the floor. I tore open the top three buttons of my tailored shirt, desperate for air. My chest heaved. I couldn't protect her from this. I couldn't shoot the pain away.

A young nurse hurried down the hall, carrying a stainless steel basin of hot water. She tripped on the edge of the carpet and crashed hard into my shoulder.

My reflexes took over. In half a second, I drew my gun from my holster and aimed it directly at her chest. My eyes were wild, feral.

The nurse screamed, dropping the basin. Hot water splashed across my shoes. She collapsed to the floor, shaking uncontrollably.

A pale hand shot out from the shadows and clamped down over the barrel of my gun.

Mia stood there, her dark suit immaculate, her eyes cold and sharp. "Put it away, Boss," she whispered fiercely. "Do you want Elena to hear you losing control?"

I gritted my teeth. My jaw locked so hard it ached. I shoved the gun back into the holster and kicked the sterile metal trash can against the wall. It shattered with a deafening crash.

The delivery room doors swung open. Julian, the chief physician, walked out. His surgical scrubs were soaked in sweat.

I lunged forward. I grabbed the front of his scrubs with both fists and lifted him entirely off the floor.

"Why is she screaming?!" I roared in his face, my eyes bloodshot. "Stop the pain! Give her the drugs!"

Julian choked, his hands gripping my wrists. "Dante, she refused the epidural! She refused all painkillers. She wants to be completely awake. She needs to feel in control."

The words hit me like a physical blow. The trauma of her past—the times she had been drugged, helpless, at the mercy of her enemies—was still there. She trusted no one with her consciousness.

I dropped Julian. His feet hit the floor hard.

I drew my gun again and pressed the hot muzzle directly against his temple. "If she tears, if she bleeds too much, if her heart rate drops... I will skin every doctor in this building alive. Do you understand me?"

Julian swallowed hard, nodding slowly. "I swear it on my life."

He turned and rushed back into the room.

Another thirty minutes dragged on. The screaming suddenly stopped. A heavy, suffocating silence fell over the hallway.

My breath caught in my throat. My blood turned to ice. I couldn't move.

Then, a sharp, furious wail shattered the quiet. A baby crying.

My gun slipped from my fingers and hit the tile floor. I didn't even reach for the door handle. I lifted my leg and kicked the heavy oak doors wide open.

The smell of blood and antiseptic hit me instantly.

Elena lay back against the pillows, her face completely drained of color, her dark hair plastered to her forehead with sweat. A nurse was placing a tiny, squirming bundle wrapped in a blue blanket onto her chest.

Elena looked down at the boy, tears spilling freely over her pale cheeks.

I ignored the baby. I didn't care about the heir to the mafia empire. I sprinted to the side of the bed and crashed to my knees on the hard floor.

I reached out with trembling hands and gently cupped her face. Tears, hot and uncontrollable, poured from my eyes, dripping onto the pristine white sheets.

I leaned in and kissed her forehead, her nose, her pale lips. "Thank you," I choked out, my voice breaking. "Thank you, thank you."

Elena smiled weakly. She lifted a tired hand and ran her fingers through my messy hair. "Look at him, Dante. Look at your son."

I finally turned my head, looking at the red, wrinkled face of the boy. I reached out one large finger, and a tiny fist instantly clamped around it.

I buried my face in the crook of Elena's neck, breathing in her scent.

"I thought I was going to lose you, Elena. You are my life."

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